Ghosts
by Ms. SpearBourne
Summary: When he saw the patient being wheeled into the ER, his eyes widened and his face paled. Cuddy looked in the same direction, then up at him, concerned. "House? Do you know her?" Still looking as though he'd seen a ghost, he replied, "She's my wife." Set two years after Heeding Dad's Advice. Rated M for emotional trauma.
1. Prologue

_A/N: I, of course, do not own House (a fact I lament frequently) nor do I make any profit from this fiction. I am merely borrowing some television characters for my own sadistic pleasure. I'll return them to the literary toybox in almost as good a condition as I found them, but I can't promise they won't be emotionally scarred. (Poor things.)  
Twenty years worth of fanfiction . . . from an in-universe perspective, anyway. Why? Because my characters take on lives of their own, and Aileen - well, she's a complex woman, and House is House. What a complicated story they have . . . (Whew!)  
This story takes place from just before the beginning of __Guardian Angels__ and continues through the fourth season. I actually wrote this back in 2010, so I need to make some minor edits before posting each chapter. There will be flashbacks to show what happened between __Heeding Dad's Advice__ and this._

At a sidewalk café not far from Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, James Wilson sat at a table across from a petite woman wearing a cream-coloured sundress and lavender cardigan. Even in something so simple, she possessed a certain radiance. Her smile was warm, and her eyes sparkled. Wilson had known her for nearly his entire life and genuinely enjoyed spending time with her.

Now that she was back in town, he had to wonder how House would react. Would he be happy to see her, or would it just dredge up old wounds?

_'Eh,'_ he thought, _'there'll be time to figure that out later.'_ For now, they could catch up with each other, have some pleasant conversation, enjoy a nice lunch. She was such good company! Wilson smiled at the way her whole face lit up as she described the Palace at Versailles she'd visited a few months before.

He'd really missed spending time with his cousin since she'd moved to Europe a couple of years ago. Sure, they'd kept in touch, emailed and called each other regularly, but it wasn't the same as face to face visits. He wondered what might have been in that time had House not cheated on her with Stacy.

The waiter returned with a fresh soy latte for her and another macchiato for him, both to go. They reached for the check simultaneously, then laughed.

"Oh, come on, James!" she said with a smile. "Let me get this."

"No, no," he protested. "You just got back in town. Allow me."

After a bit more insisting, she relented and let him pay. This time, anyway.

They had just crossed the street when she remembered she'd left her sunglasses on the table. She went back to retrieve them and began strolling back to Wilson. She was halfway back when a sedan came careening around the corner and sent her rolling.

Wilson was at her side in a flash, dialling the hospital's number as he checked her pulse and made sure she wasn't seriously injured. She didn't appear to have any broken bones. Luckily, they weren't far from the hospital.

Unfortunately, the driver had fled the scene without even seeing who he had hit. He was gone before she hit the pavement.

There would be time to find the perpetrator later, he told himself grimly. Getting her medical attention was far more important right now. He sighed with relief when the ambulance arrived.

"Hit and run. She hit the pavement pretty hard," he explained as EMTs lifted her onto a gurney.

"Does she have any allergies?"

"Penicillin. And a couple of food allergies." He rose and stood back as they lifted her into the ambulance.

"Her jaw's pretty banged up. What's her name?" asked the EMT. "Aileen -," he paused when she made a sound. "Becker. Aileen Becker." Better to use her maiden name, he realised. They couldn't have House hearing of this before he could tell him what had happened.

The EMT was speaking to her, trying to keep her conscious as he checked her vital signs. They arrived at the hospital, where Doctors Cameron and Chase were waiting for them.

"Don't worry, House is having lunch," Cameron reassured.

"Why didn't you want him to know about this?" Chase queried.

Wilson sighed before answering. "It's . . . complicated. I'll explain it to you later."

Just then, Cuddy came out of the hallway. Not far behind her was House. When he saw the patient being wheeled into the ER, his eyes widened and his face paled. Cuddy looked in the same direction, then up at him, concerned. "House? Do you know her?"

Still looking as though he'd seen a ghost, he replied, "She's my wife."

_A/N: Yes, yes, I am a cruel woman to put my characters through so much. Maybe someday I'll post what I originally had in store for House back in 2009; _that_ was truly cruel. I mean, talk about a dark fic!_


	2. A Thorne in His Side

_A/N: I am not a doctor, nor do I have any medical training. Any diagnoses/terminology presented herein is meant merely for entertainment/dramatic purposes._

House was livid. "How could you not tell me she was in town?!" he shouted at Wilson. "Didn't you think I have a right to know?" He was pacing back and forth as his best friend sat, trying to find the right words.

"House," he began, "if you had known sooner, would it have made that much of a difference? Or are you upset because it's the first time you see the mother of your children in over two years and she's bloodied and bruised?"

House stopped pacing. "Oh, my god, you're right! She's not her usual luminescent self. THAT's why I'm so angry," he said with his usual sarcastic charm. He sighed, a bit calmer. "If I had known she was coming, it wouldn't have been as big a shock. To see her like that after all this time . . . ."

Chase came in with Taub. The look on both their faces said it wasn't terrible news. House and Wilson looked at them expectantly.

Chase spoke first. "Minor internal bruising, but no hemorrhaging. Considering what happened, she's lucky there wasn't more damage. There are quite a few cuts and scrapes, mostly superficial. Bruises, contusions, of course, from hitting the pavement, but no broken bones."

"What's the bad news?" House asked impatiently.

Now Taub spoke. "Her nose was broken by the impact. And her jaw was bruised, but not fractured. She'll likely need cosmetic surgery to avoid potential extensive scarring."

"And? Why haven't you already done it?" House was exasperated by now. "Ah, a photo would help, wouldn't it? So you can see how she looked _before_ some idiot rammed into her with his car."

He took out his wallet and handed Taub a photo he'd spent hours gazing at in nostalgia. "This is the best picture I have of her. Oh, wait. I have some that are more recent." He fished a small photo album out of his desk drawer. "Different angles."

"House, are you sure you want _me_ working on your wife?" Taub asked with trepidation.

"Does everybody know about that?" House was a bit . . . . bemused by all of it. "Yes, I want someone who will do their best for Aileen. Besides, your job depends on how well you do by her."

Taub merely nodded, lips set in a grim line.

Chase and Taub turned to exit when House called out, "Wait. Let me go see her for a minute before you take her in for surgery again."

"Of course. Just don't excite her, eh?" Chase cautioned.

House gave him an incredulous look as he walked past. "What makes you think I would do that?"

* * *

An hour later, Wilson stormed into House's office. "What the hell did you say to her?!"

House was unperturbed. "Oh, nothing much. I asked her why she didn't bother to tell me she was coming back to New Jersey; she didn't answer. I asked why I hadn't heard from her in months; she wouldn't answer that, either. It was a pretty one-sided conversation, so I thought I should wait until she could muster a response."

"Well, she's upset. And hurt. She came here hoping you two could at least _try_ to work something out! That maybe you could be friends. Or civil. Raise your son together."

If House felt anything about what he'd just heard, he didn't show it. He simply looked up at Wilson blankly.

"House," Wilson sighed heavily, "Aileen really only has one reason to be in New Jersey. She could just as easily have gone to New York to go back into practice with her father, or stayed in France where she has friends, or moved to London like her mother wants, but she chose to come here. To see you. Because, despite everything you two have been through, she still found a way to believe in you."

"Really," House said flatly. "If I mattered so much to her . . . She could have . . ." His voice trailed off as he fought back buried emotions. He turned to look out the window. "I need to get back to my case, Wilson."

"Fine. But - Think about what I said. I don't think you want to drive her out of your life again. Because if you do . . . There might not be another next time for the two of you." With that being said, he walked out.

House called the lecture hall where his applicants were gathered. Their current patient of the week was a cosmetician who worked at a funeral home. She'd been brought in after hallucinating and having a seizure at work.

"Cadavers were clean. So is her food. It's all organic unprocessed crap. It's gotta be the embalming fluid. Ethanol can have psychoactive effects," Jeffrey Cole, aka Big Love, informed House from his perch next to the phone on the table.

"Bosley!" House shouted. "Tell whoever's talking he's an idiot."

Dobson, the older applicant, stood, hovering by his seat, not entirely sure what to do. Cole simply sat there, a miffed expression on his face.

When he didn't hear anything, House continued, "Bosley, either tell him he's an idiot, or tell me why I'm wrong."

With a look that said he was sorry, Dobson told Cole, "You're an idiot."

House, with partially feigned surprise, asked, "You actually think that I'd take a patient who had a seizure in a funeral home if the ER hadn't already ruled out embalming fluid?

Cole, confused, said, "I thought we weren't supposed to trust . . . ?"

House, still upset over the situation with his estranged wife and Wilson's rebuke minutes ago, took it out on his potential fellows. "Idiot! From the Old French _idiote_, meaning effeminate, mentally deficient Moor."

Dobson announced, "I found something in the mortuary's files from '05. A forty-eight-year-old male's cause of death was listed as pneumonia, but the symptoms in the autopsy report didn't fit. Uh, confusion, memory loss, depression."

"Mad cow. Very cool." House was intrigued. And somewhat calmed.

But Cole wasn't so sure. "No, she's a vegetarian and only ate organic vegetables at that."

House was getting annoyed again. "Tell him he's an idiot again."

Cole silently pursed his lips.

Dobson explained, "The disease can be spread by brain tissue."

"Which is very cool. Run with it," House told them.

Brennan, somewhat amused, wondered aloud, "So, because the answer might be cool, you want us to do a brain biopsy on a twenty-four-year-old woman?"

"No, because the answer is something cool, I want you to do a brain biopsy on a forty-eight-year-old dead guy," House ordered.

All the potential fellows were shocked.

Amber, wide-eyed, reminded him, "The guy's already been buried."

Kutner, rather excited, piped up, "We dig him up."

Amber shot him an unamused glare.

Taub, uncomfortable with the prospect of grave-robbing, spoke up, "I am not digging up a body without a court order."

"Don't think of it as digging up a body. Think of it as keeping another one from being buried," House chided.

The applicants were silent for a moment as they considered this.

"I can't do it," Cole said firmly.

House picked up the entire phone and spoke directly into it, "We gonna have another one of those ecumenical discussions where I tell you that your beliefs are ridiculous and you totally cave?"

"I just gotta be home at six."

"The Sabbath. The Lord works for six days, then tells the union he needs a rest. You know, if _I_ was all-powerful, I'd take at least _two_ days."

"It's Thursday," Thirteen reminded him.

"Well, then, it must be the kid," House deduced.

Cole rolled his head as the others looked at him, intrigued.

"You have oatmeal on your pants," House stated.

Cole checked his pants and scanned the room.

Kutner looked up, then asked,"Do you have a camera in here?"

"No. I was guessing," House replied only partly sarcastically. "He had oatmeal on his pants yesterday and the day before. Have one of your wives look after the spawn."

"I'm a single dad."

"Where's the single mom?" Taub asked.

"I have no idea." Cole, irritated at this intrusion into his personal life, hopped off the table and walked out.

"Interesting," House said, unaware Cole had left. "You claim a lapse of judgement, or you gonna admit that a lapse in judgement is a lapse in faith?"

"He's gone," Brennan told him.

"Fair enough. Family comes first," House admitted before hanging up.

Six of the applicants headed for the cemetery, but Amber snuck away to the clinic to find Cuddy and try to get an edge over the others.

Back in his office, House thought about what he had said: _Family comes first._

Family.

He used to have a family. A wonderful family. But he'd driven Aileen away and wound up missing time with their son. Time he couldn't get back.

But, if she was really willing to give him another chance, maybe they could find happiness again.

He made his way to Aileen's room. She was on some pretty strong painkillers since she got out of surgery, so he wasn't sure she'd be awake. He doubted she'd even be able to hear him.

But he knew he wanted to be near her, to be there when she opened her eyes.

He sat beside her bed and took her left hand in his. "Aileen? I don't know if you can hear me, but I . . ."

Was there any point in him saying all of this if she couldn't hear it?

He rubbed his thumb across her knuckles, then lifted her hand to his lips. Her head turned slightly in his direction, but she didn't open her eyes or make a sound.

Her jaw was wired shut. Her face was heavily bandaged. Her lids remained heavily closed.

But House could tell she could hear him. She squeezed his hand.

"Layla? Can you hear me?"

Her eyebrows twitched slightly, in what could almost be called confusion. She could probably hear parts of what he was saying.

"Layla, Wilson told me why you're back in town," he kept his head near hers and his voice low.

She sighed. Her lids fluttered as she moaned softly but soon settled peacefully again.

House sat beside his estranged wife's hospital bed, hoping she would awaken soon. Her eyelids fluttered again, and her eyes just barely opened.

"It's OK, Layla, we'll have plenty of time to talk later. When -"

Suddenly, a man burst in, demanding to know her condition.

House gripped her hand more tightly, rising instinctively to protect her. He wasn't sure what he needed to protect her from, though.

"Aileen, darling," the pretentious British man droned. His light grey suit was impeccable, dark hair perfectly groomed, yet there was something about him that seemed . . . off somehow.

She looked up sleepily, her eyes unfocused. "Hmmmph," was all she managed to utter before drifting off into a drug-laced sleep again.

"Just . . . who are you?" House asked slowly.

"Ah, my apologies, sir. Bertram J. Thorne," he offered, clicking his heels together and extending his well-manicured hand. "Tell me, how is my beloved?"

"Your _beloved_?" There was no way Aileen had embarked on a serious relationship without telling him about it. They'd never kept anything of that magnitude from each other.

"Uh, yes. We've been involved for - I'm sorry, why does this matter to you?"

"Because . . . Only immediate family gets informed and makes medical decisions. Seeing as you are _not_ immediate family," he paused as he attempted to escort Thorne out, "you'll have to go."

"Ah, but you are mistaken, Doctor! I am, in fact, family. Or nearly, as the case may be. Aileen and I are to be wed soon," Thorne informed him cheerily.


	3. He'll Have to Go

_OldSFfan, yep, lousy way. Glad you're enjoying my fic, though._

"Seeing as you are not immediate family," House paused as he attempted to escort Thorne out of his wife's hospital room, "you'll have to go."

"Ah, but you are mistaken, Doctor! I am, in fact, family. Or nearly, as the case may be. Aileen and I are to be wed soon," Thorne informed him cheerily.

House, too shocked to speak, was relieved Wilson chose that moment to make an appearance. Seeing Thorne and guessing him to be the man Aileen had told him about, he asked the Englishman to join him for a walk before informing House that John was waiting for him in his office.

Back in House's office, little John Gregory House sat playing a handheld video game while his grandfather, Dr. John Becker, spoke on the phone. "Yeah, Reg . . . No, no, I haven't been in to see her yet . . . Uh-huh . . . Okay, I'll see you in a bit."

Just as he was hanging up, his son-in-law walked in. "Becker," he greeted curtly.

"House," Becker rose. "How's Leenie?"

"Still sleeping. Sedatives. Just cuts and bruises," he assured him. Becker only called her _Leenie_ when he was worried about his little girl.

Johnny set his game down to cling to his father's leg. "Dad? Mama's hurt? Grandpa said someone hit her?"

"Yeah, son. Mama's hurt. But she'll be better soon." House hated to see the boy worry, but he was pleased to hear that his language skills had progressed so much.

"You'll take care of her, right, Dad?" Identical blue eyes gazed into House's, full of absolute trust.

House smiled in spite of his worry. "Of course I will." Turning to the older man, he asked, "How's The Bronx?"

"Good, good. Reggie'll be here in a few minutes; she stopped to get us a hotel room. There's, ah, something I need to talk to you about, though."

"Is it about a guy named Thorne?" he asked, dreading the answer. Becker heaved a sigh. "Yes. Did she get a chance to tell you?"

His stomach dropped. "That she's engaged? No. He showed up gloat about it."

Becker's face fell. "Oh, no. He's here already? Great. Just great! That lunatic could - "

"Wait, wait. What's going on? Are they getting married or not?"

"Absolutely not! Thorne's a _patient_ of Aileen's. He has delusions of grandeur, among other things. She was bringing him back to New York - to his parents, who are planning on sending him to a hospital upstate - but he took off. She followed him here."

House felt as though he'd been punched in the gut. Aileen was not marrying someone else, nor was the guy even a romantic prospect. And Wilson had said -

"We'll have to alert security," Becker remarked grimly. "The guy's dangerous if he perceives the slightest threat to the life he has built up in his mind."

"Wilson's with him. He took him to get coffee or something. I knew there was something off about that guy when he barged into Aileen's room." House was reaching for his phone even as he moved towards the door. "Chase!" he called out when he saw the young Aussie strolling down the hallway.

"What is it? What's wrong?" Chase was used to House's foul moods, but he'd never seen him distraught like this.

"Alert security to post someone near Aileen's door. Tell them not to let anyone in that's not hospital staff. Have you seen Wilson?"

"Yeah, he's in the cafeteria with some English fop who - "

House took off and was dialling before Chase could finish the sentence. "Wilson? Don't say anything. Thorne's one of Aileen's patients, not her fiancé. Keep him occupied until I can get there. Don't let him leave your sight. Play along with whatever he says about his relationship with her."

Slightly perturbed, Wilson pocketed his phone.

"Something wrong, mon frère?" Thorne asked, with altogether too much familiarity.

"That was . . . House. Aileen's had to be taken back into surgery. Apparently, she had a muscle spasm and one of her stitches came loose."

"Oh, dear," Thorne murmured.

"It's a minor thing. He'll call me when it's over."

Thorne nodded silently, lost in thought.

House slowly entered the cafeteria, scanned the room until his eyes caught Wilson's, then waited for the wiry security guard on his heels. A burly guard was just a few steps behind them.

Wilson sipped his coffee and hoped there wouldn't be too much trouble. All he'd known was that Aileen had been bringing a patient from Rouen to New York, but he'd taken off to Princeton-Plainsboro, where she'd trailed him. Whatever his psychological problems were, this man gave off a vibe that made him increasingly uncomfortable.

"So, Thorne? How'd you and my cousin meet?" he asked to keep him occupied.

"Ah, that is an endearing story! We were both at a bookstore, searching for the same book, actually, and our hands grazed each other's. Our eyes met, and that was that."

"Hmm," Wilson replied. "That's, uh, that's nice, romantic." The security guards were slowly approaching; it would be another minute before they actually reached the table, though.

"Did she not tell you about that?" Thorne asked.

Wilson cleared his throat. "No. We, uh, we've both been pretty busy lately. We haven't had a chance to talk much the past few months," he fibbed. _'Hurry up, Hugh, Charlie,'_ he thought at the security guards.

_A/N: Give me a few days to get the next chapter posted; turns out I lost some documents when my computer crashed last year. Fortunately, I still have the notes I jotted down a few years ago, so it should be an easy task rewriting the next few chapters. I just have to make the time for it._  
_In the meantime, if you're in the mood, (shameless plug - haha) you can read some of my dark poetry at MaisonDesGhouls . com_


	4. Chaos Calm

Wilson cleared his throat. "No. We, uh, we've both been pretty busy lately. We haven't had a chance to talk much the past few months," he fibbed. _'Hurry up, Hugh, Charlie,'_ he thought at the security guards.

Thorne rose slowly. "I am going to get more coffee," he announced woodenly.

"I'll come with you," Wilson offered.

The fop seemed not to notice anything around him as they walked towards the coffee machines. Wilson hazarded a glance back to see where the guards were. Thorne bolted.

House and Wilson weren't sure how it happened, but, after several minutes of chaos, Thorne wound up pinned to the floor by Hugh. For such a lanky man, he was quite strong.

"Let me see my wife!" Thorne demanded.

* * *

An hour later, Thorne was sedated and in the psych ward of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. His parents had been notified; the psychiatrist from Dagian Liss - Greymeadows was on his way out.

"So why does he pretend to be English?" House asked his father-in-law over cold Reubens and hot coffee.

"Nobody knows," Becker murmured. "The first time he came to see me, for a nagging cough, he sounded like a New Yorker. By the time Leenie starting treating him, a year later in Rouen, he had taken to dressing in the fancy suits and speaking with ridiculous accents like a - " He brushed off the rest of the sentence.

House raised an eyebrow. "And Aileen couldn't help him?"

"She . . . " He blew out a breath. "She helped him calm down, be less violent, but he wouldn't take his medication, refused the suggestion of hospitalisation." Shaking his head, he added, "I can't imagine what goes through his head when he gets worked up like that."

"Maybe now he'll get the help he needs. I'm going to see how she's doing."

"I'll be along in a few minutes."

* * *

Through heavy-lidded eyes, Aileen watched House as he recounted the havoc caused by her former patient. She wanted to tell him she was sorry for not telling him she was coming to New Jersey, for staying gone for so long, for going away in the first place, for everything. But all she could manage was to squeeze his hand.

He smiled despite his worry. "Yeah. I know. We've got a lot to talk about. If we'd had time when we were in Singapore . . ." He dropped his head. At least he'd had a chance to spend a little time with Johnny.

Those precious few hours had been the bright spot in an otherwise dull, run-of-the-mill symposium. They had ordered room service, watched a movie their son picked out, and played. It had been one of the best nights of his life.

He just hoped they'd be able to have more like it.

As though in response, Aileen let out a faint moan. When he met her eyes, she blinked once.

_A few days later_

She managed to smile when he walked into her room. It was refreshing not to be sedated anymore, even though it had helped keep her from ripping the bandages from her hands and face. Now, she was aware of their necessity and was content to let them do their job protecting her still-healing skin.

House sat in the chair by her bed, as he'd done every day since she'd been admitted. He gave her a once-over to check her progress, as he did each time he paid her a visit. At last satisfied with his examination, he relaxed. "Did you sleep well?"

She shrugged with one shoulder.

"Breakfast? You were supposed to start on your liquid diet today."

She nodded once, then wrinkled her nose.

"That bad?" he chuckled. "It's just until your jaw heals up."

She rolled her eyes, then lifted her hands and mimicked driving a car.

"Drive? Oh, you mean the driver that hit you. No. No one came forward."

Her shoulders slumpled. Who had hit her with his car? And why?


End file.
